Bravery
by somewherexthere
Summary: Bravery is a multitude of things, and there was a reason why Draco Malfoy was made a Slytherin. She was everything he couldn't be, but she was everything he wanted. DMHG


A/N this is sort of a different style of writing that I'm not exactly used to, but I wanted to try it out. :) I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

Bravery is a multitude of things. Bravery is facing your fears. Bravery is risking your life for those you love. Bravery is standing up for what is right. Bravery is letting someone else know who you are. Bravery is forgiving. Bravery is loving. Bravery is a Gryffindor trait.

And there is a reason why Draco Malfoy was made a Slytherin.

_**Facing your fears**_

He watched from the sidelines as she screamed in horror, the pain evident in her eyes and posture. She must not be realizing that she's screaming and crying. She would be too proud to do so. The pain must have been agony. Yet she faced her fears, letting Bellatrix have her way with her. Aunt Bellatrix, the terrible woman whose deranged smile made everything in the world worse by tenfold.

Everyone was scared; it would have been stupid not to be. In fact even daft ol' Weasley must have been afraid. What mattered, though, was that they still stood head on. Bloody Gryffindors and their reckless bravery. It would be their most admirable trait, and the downfall of them all. Draco was sure of it.

He wanted nothing but to run in and stop his aunt from hurting her anymore, carving the word "Mudblood" into her arm. It would be permanent, as permanent as the Dark Mark that rested on his arm. The scars would be just as terrible a reminder for both of them; it was a battle scar that would inflict more wounds in the heart every time it was looked at. He knew of it, he felt it every day when he changed in the morning, showered… every time he looked at the cursed mar on his pale skin. Now she would have the same feeling deep in her gut whenever she looked at her arm. The beautiful arm that led to the powerful fist that knocked him against a tree in third year.

He wanted to stop all of this from happening, but he couldn't face his fears. He was a Slytherin, after all.

_**Risking your life**_

She was so stupid for running in at the last minute. A distraction so the Dark Lord wouldn't focus on Potter, just so Potter could say the fatal words to the curse. Stupid. Bloody stupid. What if Potter hadn't said it in time? What if the Dark Lord cursed her before he was cursed? She could have died.

But of course, she was Hermione Granger, and Hermione Granger would do anything, even die, to make sure everyone else lived. She would die for her friends and family. She would die for people she didn't know, because they too, had friends and family who cared for them.

He wished he could say that he would have thrown himself in front of her to block any curse that came her way before Potter killed the insensitive bastard, but he knew he wouldn't have. He would have been too afraid to risk his life. Not only would he be hurt, but as a traitor, he'd have to go through bouts of torture before death. Maybe it wasn't so much as not being brave, than being selfish. But one thing was certain, he didn't want to have to explain to himself why he would have saved her, and he was too much of a coward to risk his life for something that might not be. She might not love him back. Again, Draco wasn't brave enough to be a Gryffindor, and it applied to this, as well.

_**Letting someone know who you are**_

He'd gone on years with calling her, "Mudblood." The word meant nothing to him at all. Well, perhaps it did. It meant the repression that he faced on a daily basis from his father. Lucius Malfoy was not a kind man, and he'd taught Draco all that he knew. Or thought he knew, at the very least. Draco Malfoy was a smart boy. He knew that blood was insignificant. There was nothing as inferior blood, or superior blood. Blood was blood; blood was thicker than water; blood was crimson red when spilt; blood gives life. Blood was simply blood, and if vampires thought all blood was created equal, who was he to judge? After all, vampires were the royal blood geniuses, and if they could tell no difference between muggle blood and purebred blood, what was the difference?

Of course, there were differences in blood types. Type A, AB, B, and O. But other than that, that was really it. Oh, and there were differences in blood for those with diseases like leukemia, sickle cell anemia, and such. There were also differences in the blood of people around the world. He reckoned blood from the United States would taste sweeter and thicker than everyone else's, as they were such an unhealthy bunch, but other than that, wizarding blood and muggle blood were no different.

He couldn't let anyone else know that was how he felt, of course. Otherwise, he would have been severely punished, and he couldn't stand writhing around in pain.

His father would excuse it as a lack of grace due to being a Mudblood, but Hermione Granger was quite different. She let people know exactly who she was – a bookworm with a tendency of being overly-annoying when it came to knowledge. She'd lecture everyone about anything and everything because she knew that she knew everything better. It was simply a trait of hers she flaunted, because she was confident of herself. She was brave enough to let people know exactly who she was.

Of course, she had her pride, too. He knew he hurt her every time he called her that disgusting label, and she'd hold back the tears. That's not about not letting someone know who you are. That was categorized with the above: facing your fears. She'd face him every day, throwing back insults to mask her pain. She wouldn't back down or give up, and let him know he got to her. He knew, nonetheless, and it pained him. But he couldn't let her see who he really was. He couldn't let the world know who he was. He simply wasn't brave enough.

_**Forgiving**_

He'd never forget the way she looked at him that day. His father had been sentenced to Azkaban, and he was granted a pardon. Well, not quite a pardon. Simply house arrest, but that was almost a pardon in his mind. He had thought he'd share a cell with Lucius for the rest of his father's life, and spend the rest of his own rotting alone. His mother had fled the country, too cowardly to face anyone. Again, his mother wasn't a Gryffindor, either. He half wanted to flee with his mother, but if he did, he wouldn't have had the chance to at least look at her one last time before he was shut away.

Her eyes were sympathetic, empathetic, and _forgiving_. In that instant, he knew that she forgave him for everything. She forgave him for his cruel words, for being the cause of Dumbledore's death, for standing there as she was being tortured, for not lying to save their lives, and for simply existing. She forgave him for all the things he wasn't sure he could forgive himself for.

He should have not said those words. He should have defied his father's word. He should have taken punishment for his actions or even go to the old bint himself for help. Instead, he let himself drown in the pressures of society and almost went along with the plan. When he was too cowardly to do so, Snape had to save his arse by killing Dumbledore himself. He'd been too afraid to stand up for what was right. He was too afraid to risk his life. He made Snape kill his only friend and confidant. He was a miserable excuse of a life, and as far as he was concerned, he deserved to rot in Azkaban with Lucius Malfoy.

Then she came to him, and apologized that his father was going to be locked up. Surely she shouldn't think he actually cared for his father, did she? Of course, he had never shown his true opinions, it was only expected that she thought he worshipped the ground his father walked on. It might have been true at one point, when he was young and spoiled with all the riches he wanted. But as he grew older, punishment was served on a cold platter; excruciating pain from curses showed him that his father loved no one but his own ideals. But they weren't even his own ideals, were they? They were the Dark Lord's. Voldemort's. His father was nothing but a coward, listening to someone else's words, because he was too afraid to make his own theory. Like father like son, of course. He, too, was a coward, and he couldn't bring himself to forgive.

_**Loving**_

What came out of her lips next shocked him. "Love yourself, you deserve it." She must have been insane.

"Granger, was there something my aunt had done to you afterwards?"

"No, I just want you to love yourself. You're not bad, you just never loved yourself enough." Of course, loving yourself would require self confidence. He didn't exactly have self confidence, now, did he? He was too afraid to even be his own person.

"I love myself plenty, Granger."

"No, you acted arrogant because you wanted to seem like you love yourself. I can see right through you. You're nothing but a scared boy, and deep inside, you know you're not your father."

Dead on. No wonder why she is the smartest witch of her age. She was breaking him down, piece by piece. He wondered if he knew his darkest secret. Like the coward he was, instead of showing his true emotions, he decided to hide. "I should hope I'm not Lucius, or I'd be rotting in Azkaban!"

"There you go with the mask again, Draco." She'd called him by his first name, "I know you better than you think. You never meant a word you said to me. You were simply terrified of consequences. We were young, I forgive you. You couldn't have risked your life to stop your lunatic aunt. I forgive you. We were forced to grow up under dire circumstances. You couldn't have been yourself. It would have been simply suicide. I forgive you, Draco. I forgive you for everything. I only wish you could love yourself enough to forgive as well."

It was almost surreal to have this conversation with her outside the Ministry. Potter and Weasley had already gone after the hearings. It was too much for them to bear, looking back at the faces of the people who hurt them all. The casualties were numerous, and if Malfoy remembered correctly, one of the Weasley twins had died. Yet here she was, standing alone, not flanked by her usual body guards, talking to him. _Him_, Draco Malfoy, the boy whose existence was torture for her every day in Hogwarts. And she forgave him for all his sins. "No, you can't forgive me. You wouldn't have done the same things I did. You would have stood up against your father, you would have done anything to stop injustice, including risking your life. You wouldn't have been afraid to be yourself. The things I did wrong were the things I chose to do wrong. You can't forgive me."

"But I can, Draco," she whispered, "I forgave you the moment I defended you against Harry and Ron. I forgave you when I told them that you were just a boy being forced to grow up in a family too cold to warm your heart. I forgave you when I fell in love with you."

Damn the Slytherin code of honour, he was going to convert to a Gryffindor. He kissed her then, because that was what Gryffindors do. They had the bravery to be who they were, and he wanted to kiss her. Perhaps it was still cowardly, because he now knew for sure that she wouldn't reject him. After all, she just confessed in loving him. Maybe being a stupid, brave Gryffindor wasn't so bad. Having the bravery to love was a beautiful thing.


End file.
